The Price of Freedom
by Illaesazaikasha
Summary: Diego knew that his double life as Zorro would always have consequences from the government in power. He didn't expect to deal with an arrest and possible execution as the editor of the Guardian.
1. Prologue

**The Price of Freedom**

by Illaesazaikashana

 **Disclaimer** : I don't hold any rights to anything found here except for maybe the plot I came up with. Anything recognizable is a) part of the show and therefore definitely not mine or b) actual historical fact used fictionally. Didn't make any money writing this either.

 **Summary** : Diego knew that his double life as Zorro would always have consequences from the government in power. He didn't expect to deal with an arrest and possible execution as the editor of the Guardian.

 **Author's Note** : A single liberty was taken with both the background of the show and a bit with history, but it will make sense and lead to a far happier ending. I have no idea if I'll write another Zorro based fic after this one but I can tell you I've been enjoying the others found on this site. Almost voraciously so...

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _May 2nd, 1824_  
 _Madrid, Spain_

The man was not a tall man, but he held himself like he was much taller. "You are quite sure it's him?" asked King Ferdinand, once exiled but since returned. "I have heard too many conflicting reports."

The other man, a noble by birth and by his bearing he was proud of that fact. While he deferred, as was expected, to his King he had trained for years to serve him in the same manner. "I cannot see it being anyone else. The coincidences are too plentiful, and obvious, to ignore. I just cannot fathom the why."

"When I chose the five of you, I distinctly remember stating that the purpose of your new order was to protect Spain and her interests, and by extension—if I must remind you that I am Spain's King—that means my interests," pointed out Ferdinand, and when the other man stopped to speak he smiled and waved off the apology that he knew was coming. "No, no, my good man. You have done that—all of you have. To the very letter. I have no doubt that he does as well. I just would like him to keep me updated occasionally, so long as it does not compromise whatever mission he has taken on."

"You believe, then, that he has not gone rogue as some think?" asked the other man. "I realize we allowed him an early retirement when he was called back home by his father…"

"No," answered Ferdinand. "His methods have always been as his new chosen codename suggests."

The other man chortled at this as Ferdinand gave a short bark of laughter. "Cunning as always," agreed the other man. "I just hope he hasn't bitten off more than he can chew."

"If Alta California wasn't a territory of Mexico, I would send another of my Left Hands there, but I am not sure how he would react," said Ferdinand, and then he stopped again, making the other man skip a step to stop as he had been mid-step. "But perhaps I should."

"Your Majesty?" asked the other man.

"If he has gone rogue, then he needs to be eliminated. No capture, no anything. He disappears. Let the people think what they will," said Ferdinand. "If he has _not_ gone rogue, as others suggest, then this second Left Hand is to take his report and return back here."

"Not aid him?" asked the other man.

"No," answered Ferdinand. "I know him too well. He would not welcome the help and worrying about someone else stepping on his toes would only cause him to make errors in judgement while trying to be responsible for both. No, the man works alone. Always has. Always will. But… perhaps… it is time for him to _actually_ retire and stay retired. How old is he now?"

"I understand he will be thirty, sire."

"And when did the others retire and choose their successors?"

"Shortly before they turned thirty—if they hadn't been killed in the line of duty," answered the other man. "All of the first Left Hands have retired, accepted your accolades—and we are honoured by them, as we were honoured to serve you—and now serve in other ways."

"Then it is time he was told he is released—retired again. That can be the third part of the mission," said Ferdinand. "And then I want him to answer directly to me. I would know, from his lips, what has been happening in California. I would know why the dons and rancheros are under the impression that these 'emissaries' are from me when we no longer have control of the territory and he is to answer that. I would know why he has chosen to pull himself out of his retirement."

"Then you intend on sending another?" asked the other man.

"I believe I stated so before," answered Ferdinand. "Send one of the juniors—it can be their first real test in the field. If I know my Left Hand, he will be more likely to see this apprentice as a new challenge to sink his teeth into, someone to teach and hone into a fine edged blade rather than a nuisance."

"It shall be done, my liege," said the other man, bowing low. "I have just the apprentice in for the task."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 _September 15th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_

It was still early in the morning, and walking around the quiet hacienda, Alejandro was not surprised to note that he couldn't find his son. Even as things had slowly changed, certain habits would not. Diego was still likely sleeping. Felipe was similarly missing, but he had his suspicions that the latter was still chasing chores he felt he needed to do.

In truth, until the adoption was legal, Felipe still was a servant in their house. Alejandro had a bit of input regarding that. Diego had a fight on his hands, whether he realized it or not.

The sound of steps in the hallway made Alejandro turn around and he smiled as he watched his son wipe sleep from his eyes, blinking as he tried to wake up.

"Ah, perfect," said Alejandro, pointing at his son.

Diego blinked again, confused.

"Don't worry, son, I won't jump right in until you've had at least a coffee and a bit of brunch. Come, join me. It's just about time for my lunch," he said, leading his son by the arm into his own sitting room.

Diego looked around, and a very gravelly voice said, "I'm almost worried."

Alejandro motioned to a chair as Maria walked by. "Two, today, _por favor_ , Maria," he said, and she nodded and continued her way. "Sit down son. I'll pour the coffee."

Diego slowly sat, still guarded and Alejandro watched his son as he poured the coffee and handed Diego his cup. He watched Diego sip a bit of it before he sat down in another chair by him and sipped his own.

After a while, he could see that Diego was a bit more alert and Alejandro decided that now would be the time. "I would like to discuss your adoption of Felipe."

Diego spluttered and coughed. Whatever he had expected his father to talk about that clearly hadn't been it. Alejandro waited him out and when Diego took another sip, almost as if buying himself time, Alejandro decided he wasn't going to give his son any time to think.

Giving Diego time to think of an argument meant losing the argument.

"I think you adopting him is a mistake," said Alejandro, and he could see Diego's eyes widen and then he set down the cup carefully. "Because they won't allow it. You are too young, and he is too old now. However, there is another in this family who could adopt him without the same issue."

Diego blinked. "Oh?"

"Me," answered Alejandro. "If you will allow me to step in, I will adopt Felipe and he will be your brother. He is too old to be your son. No one would accept it. But your brother? No one would question it. No one would question me. Especially not now… not after the whole thing with Risendo. People would understand."

Diego ran a hand down his face, but Alejandro could see that he was at least considering it. _As he should_ , thought Alejandro. _It just makes more sense, and for all his faults, Diego has always had more sense than any of us_.

It didn't take Diego long to prove his father right.

"You have a valid point," said Diego. "Very well, I will step aside and let you adopt Felipe. But, perhaps we go ahead and decide this it would be better to ask him how he feels about it? It is his life."

 _Very wise, son_ , thought Alejandro. _Not that I'm surprised_. He grinned. "Good, then. When you find him, let him know I would like him to join us for dinner. As family, not a servant. He should get used to the idea anyway."

Diego took another sip of coffee as Alejandro stood up for Maria and their butler, who had the mail. Diego started into his breakfast as Alejandro read through the mail. One bore a seal—one he was familiar with—and had come from Spain. _Why would the King send me a letter?_ He wondered. He opened it first. Missives and letters from royalty did not come every day and you didn't just leave a King waiting, even if he was thousands of miles away and on the other side of the Earth.

Alejandro sank into his chair and paled. He saw his son stop eating, watching him in concern before he slid his food aside and was at his father's side. He neatly took the letter from his father and read it.

 _Don Alejandro Sebastian de la Vega_

 _Greetings to you and your family. It has come to our attention that you have sent us a great many letters detailing the grave delinquencies and injustices served to you and your pueblo by men claiming to work in our name. Let us assure you, now that we have received these letters and had enough time to read them over, that your situation is indeed grave. More so that you think._

 _Not one of these men were sent by the Spanish Crown. All of them were pretenders—one even on the run from justice here in Spain. We have read your letters regarding 'el Zorro' with great interest and were it our actual jurisdiction to grant him a pardon—which, in fact, it is not—we would do so immediately. The fact remains that any warrant in the Crown's name for his arrest is false, so a pardon is redundant._

 _We would, however, like to send an actual diplomatic envoy to Alta California, but since the Californias are in fact part of Mexico (and have been for years), that is contingent on Mexico granting the permission._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _King Ferdinand VI of Spain._

Diego sat down heavily, and Alejandro watched as numerous emotions played out over his son's face. The first was confusion, then horror, then anger before returning to confusion again as he read the letter a second time. "Spain… no longer controls California?" asked Diego, his voice no more than a whisper. "None of the emissaries were even from Spain? Then who _were_ they?"

Moments after both had a chance to absorb what the letter implied, Diego said, "I need to verify this."

"Why you?" asked Alejandro. "It was addressed to me."

"The Guardian," answered Diego, flicking a glance over at his father. "That kind of news is exactly what needs to be on the front page. And, once confirmed, I need to have a little chat with de Soto."

"Diego…" Alejandro's eyes grew wide. "That could get you killed. Not just imprisoned—if what's in that letter is true then the men, the very governor and the emissaries, they all knew this. There is no leadership but for what is in Monterrey. And they never had any real interest in helping us or in doing anything but maintaining the status quo."

Diego snorted. "Now that I want to do something, you're telling me to not do it?"

"I'm not saying don't do it," said Alejandro. "But perhaps wait until you have some backing from others. Perhaps even Zorro."

The reaction to that was by far not the one Alejandro expected. His son leaned back and laughed, and then groaned as he ran a hand over his face. "How did I not expect you to say that?" he wondered aloud. "Wait for Zorro, indeed. I may as well wait for the King to show up in person to take charge, Father."

He blinked. Diego had never exactly been secretive about his dislike of Zorro, but to see him outright deride him.

Alejandro thought more about it.

Little things began to make sense and he sighed. "No, perhaps you shouldn't wait for Zorro. But, as you said, wait until you have confirmed it and get a statement from de Soto. The man made it clear from day one that all he wanted was to return to Madrid. Perhaps, with a little cunning worthy of the Fox himself, you can give him a little push to have him on our side for once. Think of it, if he knows that the way to get back to Spain is to support someone with the King's ear…"

"He'll naturally jump in that direction," finished Diego, and he took a sip of his coffee. "It's worth trying."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 _September 17th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_

Alejandro paused before he entered the tavern. The conversation with his son, that had soon escalated into an argument, regarding the news from Spain was at the forefront of his mind. The weekly edition of the Guardian had not yet been printed. There was a chance Diego may take his advice, but he knew that the editor of a newspaper would not.

It was hard for the rumour that something was up to be kept from the town. Everyone knew that the de la Vegas had received a missive from the King.

No one knew what was in it.

Alejandro took a breath and stepped into the tavern, and almost immediately Don Emilio was at his shoulder. "Come here, old friend, share a table with me."

Alejandro stifled a groan, but he knew if he refused that the other don would take offense, albeit a small one. "All right, but you're buying," said Alejandro.

Emilio clapped him on the shoulder, and answered, "Fine, you old codger."

"Old? I'm two years younger than you!" exclaimed Alejandro.

Once they were seated, and orders taken, Emilio leaned close. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Is what true?"

"That you got a personal letter from the King himself!"

Alejandro thought for a moment. There was no way to lie about it, but if Emilio thought he would get anything more he was in for a rude awakening. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" asked Emilio. "Perhaps you received it or perhaps it was from the King?"

"The latter," answered Alejandro. "You know, with all that has been happening that it is just prudent to be sure it was not a forgery. We'd look like fools."

"True, true," agreed Emilio. "So, it was not just a social letter or one of less serious nature?"

"If a letter of condolence regarding the loss of a son isn't serious enough, I don't know what is," pointed out Alejandro.

Emilio swallowed and took a sip of wine to hide his sudden discomfort as he visibly flinched. "Indeed," he answered quietly. "That is truly a serious matter and for the King to send such a letter speaks greatly."

"Oh?" asked Alejandro. "Elena was his cousin."

"That's also true, old friend."

A silence fell on their table as sorrow swallowed both. Both had lost sons, although Emilio had at least known his son well enough to mourn him. Alejandro's feelings still ran hot with fury at Senora Risendo before being dipped in ice from a profound sorrow for Elena, and for Diego. Another feeling stole across him as he realized he had successfully distracted Don Emilio from the actual content of the letter, which bought time for Diego to confirm it—and write his damned article for the Guardian.

* * *

Diego carried the letter through the hacienda as if it could bite him. In truth, he wasn't too sure it wouldn't. He stepped into the library and paused before hitting the switch in the fireplace mantle and continuing through the passageway. As the door closed behind him, he let out a breath he had been holding.

The letter was far more dangerous than it appeared.

Oh, it was dangerous enough the way it was, even on the surface. But the deeper meaning to the words held a message that sent icy fingers down his spine.

Luis Ramon.

A _pretender_.

Ignacio de Soto.

The same.

Even Gilberto had not only maintained the illusion but had dove straight down the rabbit hole, complete with what appeared to be royal guard.

When he had created Zorro, Luis Ramon had been the larger problem. How many years had he been fighting mere pretenders? Or had he been fighting Mexico the entire time?

The thought made him shudder as the only way he could ever marry Victoria now was if he unmasked, and then fled for Spain to ask for the King's favour. Given his service as Zorro, and in battling the pretenders he had no doubt it would be granted. Being the King's cousin would only help in that.

 _I'm not running away_ , he decided. _I didn't run away when I created Zorro. I won't do it now_.

He sighed then. Victoria would be in for a very long wait if they waited for him to unmask. It was beginning to look like he never would.

If he had been fighting Mexico.

Given the pretender's claim, it was very likely that he had been fighting for both Mexico _and_ Spain. He could not see Mexico being very happy with the claims of pretenders.

He sat down at his desk, reading the letter again, drumming his fingers on the leather inlaid into the mahogany surface of the desk. If the letter was genuine…

Diego sighed.

He knew it was genuine.

The seal was too difficult to reproduce, at least not this well. And there was a slight alteration meant for his eyes to see that no one could ever know about. Hidden beneath the missive to his father was a message for Diego specifically.

That was the part that made his blood run cold.

" _Cojones_ ," he breathed out, running a hand down his face after setting the letter on the desk.

An emissary was coming.

There was no _if_.

The only if was if they were already here and just waiting for the official permission to make it public. Diego sighed and smiled a little bit. This, in fact, emboldened him where it regarded an article for the Guardian. The only other thing he needed was more proof than just a letter and that meant a trip to Monterrey to see the Governor or at least poke around his office.

His eyes thinned.

Zorro would ride—just not in Los Angeles.

Diego slipped the letter into a hidden compartment in the desk. Until he knew for certain what was going on, this would keep it from prying eyes and away from the alcalde—or others.

He walked back up the stairs, heading back to the library. He checked the peephole, and once sure it was clear he exited the cave and returned to the hacienda. His long legs carried him swiftly to his room where he pulled out a small luggage bag.

A touch on his shoulder alerted him to Felipe's presence.

The young man signed, _Where are you going?_

"I have to go to Monterrey for awhile," answered Diego, and then he turned to grasp Felipe's shoulders. "But, before I do, Father and I need to talk to you about something regarding your adoption."

Felipe's eyes went wide.

"No, no, you're still being adopted but Father brought up a valid point," answered Diego, patting him on the shoulder with a smile. "And I wanted to know how you felt about it before I went ahead with it."

Felipe tilted his head and signed, _What is it?_

Diego took a breath. "Father wants to adopt you—that would make you my brother and not my son. He feels that given how close we are in age that they would not let me adopt you. However, because Father has the age part down…"

Felipe smiled, and he signed, _I would be honoured. And it would still fit wonderfully. He is right_.

"Then you consent?"

Felipe nodded.

"Good, that gives me one more reason to go to Monterrey," answered Diego and he saw Felipe's confusion. "I have to… investigate… something for the Guardian and I'll be gone a few days. I didn't want that to be the real reason or the target would be on edge. Your change in adoption would mean going to see our lawyer, giving me a reason to go instead of the Guardian."

Felipe made a sign of the Z, and Diego patted his arm. "Yes, I think you are right. I will have need of it. But it needs to be very well hidden. I cannot even take Toronado, much as I'd like to."

Felipe blew out a breath but nodded. Then he paused. _There was talk of a letter_ …

Diego nodded. "It's in the compartment of my desk, should Father truly need it. Otherwise, tell him I said I hid it somewhere safe and not to worry about it being found."

Felipe nodded his understanding before he left to tell Maria to make travel food for Diego to take to Monterrey. The sound of the front door closing told Diego his father was home again. He heard his voice, and then moments later his father walked into his bedroom. "What's this about you going to see our lawyer?"

"About Felipe, yes," answered Diego, but he shook his head.

Alejandro nodded his understanding as he remembered the conversation regarding the Guardian. Diego had no idea if his father approved of this or not, but it needed to be done. "What would you like me to do about that letter?"

"I've hidden it," answered Diego. "That way it can't be accidentally found by people who shouldn't see it. What have you told the others about it?"

"That it was a letter of condolence regarding Gilberto," answered Alejandro, and then he snorted. "It wasn't an untruth."

"No, that it wasn't," Diego answered, with a bit of a grin.

He remembered a discussion with Felipe years before that he should trust his father with his secret. Given his father's unexpected cunning and discretion, he could see Felipe's point now. Diego stopped for a moment, taking a breath.

After Gilberto died, he had been so close to telling his father but had shied away from it at the last moment. He had begged off, telling him he would tell him everything later but then later never came.

Perhaps later needed to be now.

"Actually, Father, perhaps it would be better if I showed you where," said Diego, as he tied the bag closed and turned to face his father.

If didn't know better, the expectant expression on his father's face meant the older man already knew what Diego was going to tell him—what he was going to show him. "Oh?" asked Alejandro.

Diego took his father's arm and led him to the library. As they stepped within the room he paused and drew a breath. The minute he opened the mantle there would be no going back.

"Son?" asked Alejandro. "You know you can tell me anything. You also don't have to. You are a man—you are entitled to your privacy and space. We all have things we don't share with others. Things we keep close to our own hearts."

 _He knows_ , realized Diego and he laughed hollowly. "Yes, and then sometimes we shouldn't carry a burden by ourselves or let those too young to know what the burden means also carry it. I should have told you."

"Son…" Alejandro began, his voice soft. "Take your time."

Diego reached out, touched the switch in the mantle, and opened the secret passageway. "I've already taken too much of it."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Diego followed his father down the steps into the cave, pausing on the bottom step as his father stepped down off the steps and onto the floor. The older man paused, and the pivoted slowly all the way around as he took in everything.

Finally, Alejandro turned to face his son and looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

Diego waited him out.

"Where'd you hide the letter?" asked Alejandro.

"There's a hidden compartment in my desk," answered Diego, his eyebrows rising.

Of all the reactions he expected, a bland acceptance and to the point question wasn't it.

Alejandro walked over to the desk and opened it. After a moment, he found the hidden switch in the desk and opened it. Nodding, as if satisfied with the measures his son had taken to keep it safe, he closed the compartment again. He turned to face his son, who had finally taken the last step down into the cave and crossed his arms.

"You don't seem surprised," said Diego.

"Diego, I'm your father," said Alejandro. "Since when could you hide something from me? Especially in the cave that we drilled into you as a child and why it existed in the first place. I grew up with my father drilling me on how to find it in the dark, if you remember your grandfather's quirks."

"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Diego.

"Why didn't you?" countered Alejandro.

"But all the things you said…" said Diego, spinning around as he realized his father had known. "You even called me a coward."

"And it convinced everyone that Diego was," answered Alejandro. "It convinced everyone that there was no way my star obsessed son could possibly be Zorro."

He took a step closer and clasped his son on the shoulders. "It kept you from the hangman's noose. It hurt. I wished so much to tell you that I knew but it always seemed like someone else was around the corner—like I couldn't. There had to be my poetic Diego and the daring Zorro. If I didn't believe, then no one else would."

Diego brought up a hand and bit his knuckle, a slow chuckle overtaking him. "All this time, I could have confided in you. Not carried this alone—and now I realize my father paid the same price."

"I should have said something, I know," said Alejandro. "But after awhile, I had no idea how. All I could do was wait for you to tell me. After awhile I convinced myself that the real reason was that my son, a man, needed his space. All men need their space, son. I didn't want to intrude. I should have. Forgive me?"

"Me forgive you?" asked Diego. "I should have confided in you. I should have known you'd understand. That you would grant me the space—that you always did. I should be asking for you to forgive me to bringing this risk to our house."

"Then let's start over," said Alejandro. "The blinders are off."

"Indeed, they are, Father," agreed Diego. "Indeed, they are."

"Honestly, though, did you never suspect that I could know?" asked Alejandro after a moment.

Diego chortled. "Oh, there were times I wondered how you missed things unless you were looking the other way on purpose."

"Well, I was," snorted Alejandro. "To tell the truth, I didn't truly know until I heard about what you did for de Soto, and the River of Pain. You were too beaten up for just a simple fall. I could plainly see bruising and fist marks all over you. What confirmed it, without any doubt, was your fight with Risendo."

The pall that always fell when they spoke of his brother fell again. Diego sighed and walked over to his desk before he sat heavily in it. Then his eyes widened, and he stood again. "Forgive me, that was rude. I should find you a chair. I'm not used to… well… anyone else here. But I suppose I should get a few other chairs for family and guests to visit my own private study."

"Such as our soon to be young Don Felipe de la Vega and myself, I take it?" asked Alejandro, and Diego nodded. "Yes, perhaps you should."

"And perhaps one day Victoria," murmured Diego.

Alejandro sighed again. "I don't wish to sound like a broken record, but seriously, son… marry the woman. If you need some way to make it seem like her affections moved from Zorro to you, we could come up with something."

"She doesn't know."

" _Tocate los cajones?!_ " exclaimed Alejandro, and Diego ran his hands over his face again, wincing at his father's reaction. "What do you mean? Have you never told her? How can you be sure she doesn't? Perhaps she was holding your secret, like me, and could not say so for fear of being overheard!"

"I mean exactly what I said. No, I haven't ever told her. I'm quite sure—at least, I _was_ sure. Since Gilberto, I'm not sure. I thought of that as well, but I have been discreet in asking and I don't think that's it either," admitted Diego. "Or else you would have had your grandchildren. She would have said something."

"Then we will tell her tonight."

Diego's eyes widened, but before he could explode like his father had he pulled in a breath and calmed himself. He shook his head, and then smiled. "I would agree with you, but I have to get up early to go to Monterrey, if you remember. How about after I come back?"

Alejandro thought about it and then finally nodded. "Very well, son. We'll wait for now. I suppose if you have an early morning, you should then go to bed early tonight as well. No Zorro."

Diego lifted a brow.

"I'm not ordering you, son, but if you ride late then you'll be up late," pointed out Alejandro. "Take it as advice. Or leave it. You are a grown man. But, if you are up late tomorrow, I will not hesitate to remind you that I told you so."

Diego snorted and rolled his eyes as he led his father back up to the library, still taking the time to check that the library was clear. Once they were out of the secret passageway and the fireplace closed, Diego said, "Of that I have no doubt."

* * *

 _October 25th, 1824_  
 _Monterrey_

The trip had taken nearly a week. While Diego could have taken a coach, he preferred the solitude that riding afforded him. The horse his father helped him pick from the stable had been even tempered but held enough spirit that he barely had to hint at a gallop before the horse picked up his feet but possessing the stamina for a longer ride.

Not that he had pushed it, taking enough breaks to give him and the horse time to recover in between rides, and stopping at taverns so that the horse could enjoy the comfort of a stable and Diego a soft bed and hot food.

Now he was in Monterrey and he sucked in a deep breath of the sea air before riding the rest of the way into the city. After securing lodgings for at least a few nights, he also left the care of his horse with the stable and walked out onto the street.

Monterrey was a bustling city.

While not the same size or scale as Madrid, it was large enough. The military was more prevalent here, but he noticed that the barracks seemed less populated.

He ambled down the street until he found his father's lawyer and stepped inside the office. A young man, no older than Felipe, looked up and asked, "Can I help you, senor?"

"Is Don Ernesto in?" asked Diego.

"He is," answered the young man. "May I ask who is calling?"

"Don Diego de la Vega, my father is Don Alejandro de la Vega…"

He barely had enough time to finish before Don Ernesto came rushing out of an inner office to clasp him on the shoulders and clap him on the arm. "Diego!" he exclaimed. "What an unexpected visit. What brings you to Monterrey? Is your father all right?"

"I'm sorry for dropping in with no warning, and it's a family matter…" Diego paused as he saw the horror on Ernesto's face. "No! No, my father is fine. It's about the other family matter that could come up."

"You're married!" said Ernesto, his eyebrows rising. "Your father frequently stated he hoped you finally would. I'm a little disappointed you didn't invite me…"

"I'm not married, no," said Diego and he chuckled. "And you would have had at least an invitation with plenty of time to respond. No, I'm talking about children."

Ernesto looked aghast. "I know Don Alejandro wanted grandchildren, Diego, but one out of wedlock…"

"Adopted," corrected Diego. "I wouldn't do _that_ either."

"Oh!" exclaimed Ernesto. "Oh! Now, that is different and how wonderful! Your father must be proud."

"He is, but he'd like to adopt him instead. He is concerned that the lack of a suitable age gap would give the government pause on granting the adoption if I were to do it," answered Diego. "I came to seek your advice."

"If you're talking about Felipe, then your father would be correct," answered Ernesto. "I'm sorry if that wasn't the answer you were looking for, Diego, but your father is right that it would be better for him to adopt Felipe and not you. Even if they were open to the idea, it would take a very long time. If your father were to do it, then it would be a few months to a year instead of perhaps a few years if you were to try, especially since you are supportive of the adoption. That would expedite things by quite a bit."

Diego thought for a moment and then nodded. "Very well, then I'll go on record that I fully support my father's move to adopt Felipe. They have my full blessing."

"Good, good," said Ernesto. "I'll draft an affidavit for you to sign, and then I'll attach it to your father's intent to adopt."

"I will be back then," said Diego. "I think I should at least pay my respects to our esteemed governor while I'm here."

"Good idea," said Ernesto as he turned to his clerk. "I should perhaps let you get to that before he takes a grave insult that you came here first…"

"Ah, yes, good idea," admitted Diego. "See you later, Don Ernesto."

Diego stepped back out into the street, shading his eyes as he did so, and got his bearings. The walk to the Governor's hacienda, more of a stone fortress, was not far and he was able to make the walk within a few moments. He stopped at the guard post, and after a few moments a young man in uniform came for him. "Don de la Vega," he said, bowing his head slightly. "The Governor is indisposed now, but he personally sent me to escort you to his office and to see any of your needs while his guest. Please, this way."

Diego followed the young man through the yard and up into the fortress. Moments later, he was shown into a well-appointed sitting room, more of a study like his library. "Can I get you anything?" asked the young man. "Coffee, tea… something else for refreshment? The weather is quite warm, despite the time of year, and he was sure you would like to wash the road dust out of your throat."

"Coffee would be wonderful and quite welcome indeed," said Diego. "Thank you."

"Of course, Senor," said the young man. "I will be back shortly. Please make yourself comfortable."

The young man left him alone then and Diego walked over to the shelves to read the titles on the spines. The Governor appeared to be well-read. Or, at least, he had good taste and knew what books to buy to impress his guests. Diego ran a hand along the shelf, noting it was dust free.

He turned to the balcony, taking note of how far from the compound's wall it was. It would be too far to jump, but there was another part of the roof he could get to and then get back down here.

Diego blinked as he watched a ship come into the harbour.

It wasn't flying a Spanish flag, but one of the trading company that had all but taken over the seas.

Now that he noticed, not a single ship flew the Spanish flag. The navy docks were deserted, and slowly being taken over by that same trading company.

If he hadn't already known that Spain had given up the Californias, that would have convinced him.

Moments later, his attention was pulled from the harbour as the door opened and in strode the Governor, following closely by the young attaché from before who had two cups and a carafe on a silver tray. "Don Diego!" exclaimed the Governor as he swept up to Diego and clasped his arms. "When someone said that Don Diego de la Vega was here to see me, I thought, 'You're mistaken. The man never leaves Los Angeles. It's his father!' but, here you are. What brings you to Monterrey?"

"A legal matter that my father and I didn't quite see eye to eye with, but my father—as usual—was quite correct," answered Diego, smiling, and when the Governor lifted his brows Diego shook his head. "It's nothing to concern yourself with. Purely a private family matter."

"Oh, indeed?" mused the Governor, running a hand through his beard. "Ah, very well, Diego, keep your secrets. You'll tell me eventually… or your father will. Come, sit, I need to refresh myself and you ordering coffee is exactly what I needed. Let's talk and catch up."


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

After dark, when most were asleep, and the guards were lighter in their patrols, a figure in black silk darted from rooftop to rooftop. Zorro headed straight for the fortress, making sure to watch his footing on unfamiliar roofs and balconies.

The buildings here were much denser and crowded together compared to Los Angeles. He had the distinct feeling that the same degree of corruption ran through Monterrey as it did in Los Angeles.

 _Or, perhaps, it originated here_ , he mused, climbing the wall of the fortress. _De Soto had to be sent by someone. The Emissaries didn't appear out of thin air either_.

Once he was on the wall, he moved to a shadow to avoid the moonlight from making him stand out. He moved to another shadow as he picked his way to the mansion. Once he was in sight of the study he had been as Diego, he noted that there was still light within it. Zorro crinkled his brows under his mask.

It wasn't unheard of. The Governor would most definitely have business keeping him up at night. The only thing this proved was that the man was willing to work at any time. Whatever it took to do his job. Laziness didn't seem to be his issue.

Not like a former Alcalde he could name.

Once the light was extinguished, Zorro moved to the roof of the mansion, using a rope to rappel down to the balcony. After taking a moment to make sure the study was empty, he slipped inside and moved along the wall and bookshelves and then around the desk.

Being seen here as Zorro would have questions asked that he didn't need asked.

Such as why Zorro would be in Monterrey at the same time as Don Diego de la Vega… and not in Los Angeles.

Where he should be if he wasn't Don Diego.

For him, that would be far too close and lead the wrong people straight to his father's hacienda and that he couldn't allow. Even if his father now knew, and he could trust him to bluster and threaten his way out of whatever the Alcalde could threaten back, it wasn't something he wanted.

He opened the drawer.

 _Strange_ , he thought, and he tapped the bottom. _It's too shallow compared to the face of the drawer. Hollow. False bottom_?

He tapped around it, and it opened once he moved the side of the drawer a tiny bit. _A ha!_

Underneath was another switch, which he flipped. In the side of the desk another door opened. _What a fascinating desk. I should really take notes_ …

Inside were numerous sealed documents.

Seals he recognized.

De La Vega. Perez. The King's. Mexico's.

He blinked as he broke the seal from the King and the blood drained from his face. He opened the second one, from Mexico, and he sucked in a breath. Frowning, he slipped the letters into an inside pocket of his shirt. He resisted the urge to lose his temper, but he was so very close. However, doing so would mean being vocal and loud.

Again, not something he could afford.

He closed the desk, leaving it all the way he had found it… except for one thing. He pulled a ring he carried with him and used the embers from the fire to heat up and melt a glob of wax. He found another piece of paper and wrote a very short note before he used the ring to seal it to the back of the Governor's chair.

He would know what it meant.

If he wasn't a larger fool than he now appeared to be.

With that, Zorro left the study and the Governor's mansion and returned to his room at the tavern. He swiftly undressed out of the Zorro outfit, returning to the normal, bland Diego de la Vega and went down to the common room to find a late-night snack while listening to the general mood of the now crowded tavern.

A few of the people here had come from that ship or other ships. The tavern was a popular one, if a bit pricier than others. Most of those within were officers or wealthy passengers.

One conversation piqued his interest.

"Did I hear you correctly?" asked Diego, bringing a bottle of wine over with him. "You came from Spain?"

"Stopped there, Senor, and picked up a few passengers, mail, and some cargo," answered the sailor. "Nothing too exciting there."

"Anyone from Madrid?" he asked.

The sailor shook his head. "Not that I know of, but didn't exactly ask. A few younger folk, but most were sons of merchants on their way to make deals for their fathers," said the sailor, but another one leaned over and whispered something in his ear. "Oh, yes, and that one fellow that didn't talk much to anyone. Didn't come with a merchant's passport either."

"Oh?" asked Diego.

"Yeah, the chap was quiet. Had one of those passports with a royal seal on it," answered the sailor, and he took a long drink of his wine. "Was too calm the entire trip. Kept to himself, but not really. Sociable enough."

"Intriguing," said Diego. "I wonder if he would have news of Madrid. I'm a newspaper editor, you see, from Los Angeles. Having some news from abroad would make for interesting reading. Would you happen to know where he went?"

The two sailors looked at each other.

"Funny you mention that," said the one sailor. "That's where he said he was going."

* * *

 _November 1st, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_

The last leg of his journey left Diego tired. The horse underneath him still had plenty of energy, but the rider was far more tired. He had hoped the harder ride back from Monterrey would have given his mind a chance to slow down, but it hadn't.

The pueblo was close enough for him to see the buildings and outline of the tiny town. He smiled, the first genuine smile in days.

Home.

It was a welcome sight.

Minutes later he rode up to the tavern, and even paid the traveller's tax to Mendoza without a word of complaint. Once he was inside, the sound of familiar voices was a balm to his troubled mind.

Victoria came out of the kitchen and her eyes lit up when she spotted him. "Don Diego! You're back! How was Monterrey?"

Her voice alerted others and he found himself surrounded, and then guided to a table. "My trip home feels longer than the trip there—it was like the more I wanted to be here the longer the trip took," he admitted, and he put a hand up to order something, but Victoria had set down a large glass of orange juice and Madeira beside it. " _Gracias_ , Victoria."

"I'll bring you something to eat in a minute. Wash the road dust out of your throat," she said and disappeared again.

Diego sighed and drank the orange juice in three gulps, but savoured the wine, and tried to stave off the endless questions about his trip. Thankfully, since most had heard he was going to see his father's lawyer about Felipe's adoption, the questions were about that and not the actual reason he had gone.

He also hoped he had beaten the almost incognito Emissary from Spain before he got here.

The fact that the two sailors had said he was a young man, not a mature one, was curious.

 _Not that curious_ , he thought. _You once were the same age… with the same passport from the King. He's more than just an Emissary, and you damn well know it._

Moments later Victoria brought him enough food to feed three of him, but he found he was hungry enough and finished it all. Once the food arrived, he was left alone again, and, being the middle of devouring his meal, he didn't notice as people slowly left.

He pushed back and noticed the tavern was empty.

Diego pulled out his pocket watch and groaned.

It was mere moments into siesta, but he had overstayed his welcome. Victoria came out, a small smile on her face. "Finish your wine, Diego, and you can have your normal room. I've already had Pilar's son take care of your horse and he's in our stable. You just rest. The trip looks like it took everything out of you."

 _You have no idea_ , he thought but smiled instead. " _Gracias_ again, Victoria. I'll be up there shortly."

He closed his eyes as he sipped his wine again. He had hoped to make it back home to the hacienda before siesta, but he could already feel the bone numbing exhaustion settling in. With the horse taken care of, he had no reason to push on, even if it was only two miles.

Drinking the last of his glass of wine, he climbed the stairs and found his usual room. His luggage was already there, and he found himself kicking off his shoes and collapsing into the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 _November 2nd, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_  
(The article in the Guardian)

 **Citizens of California Deceived by Apparent Leadership for Years—Spain No Longer Controls Territory.**

 **California Press/Los Angeles Guardian** —An investigation into government corruption and over spending has revealed that Spain has not held the Californias since approximately 1810. Spain gave up control of California to Mexico due to the inability to defend it or hold it stemming from the resources needed to hold territories being moved to fighting the war against Napoleon of France in Europe.

Further investigation revealed that instead of acknowledging this fact to the citizens of California, the current leadership instead chose to cover it up. Motives for this are unclear but given the vast amount of tax money paid to the government in the name of a King, who will never receive it, is in fact a type of fraud and that where it all went is still unknown as it was not paid to Mexico.

Mexico has yet to send either tax collector or representative to the Californias. All representation claiming origin as from Spain or the King, or even Mexico, has proved false.

It is unknown when Mexico will send a representative or what the current leadership intends to do before they do, or after they arrive or if the missing money will ever be found.

References and proof of this have been obtained and proper authorities notified and are currently investigating.

The Los Angeles Guardian will continue to report on this breaking story as it develops.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 _November 2nd, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_

Diego watched as people read the Guardian that morning. One woman fainted, while a few of the dons gathered as they pointed at the article. He could sense the tension in the air. If the people were half as angry as he was, it would not take long for things to change without Zorro doing anything.

 _Funny how the truth does that_ , he thought. _One moment of realizing everything you thought true was a lie. The leaders you feared one day and the next you realize they have no power over you_.

Perhaps now he could retire Zorro and walk freely as himself instead of the Poet.

The sound of a very loud, and vehement, curse from with the cuartel made him frown. This was the moment he had dreaded. Ignacio de Soto's reaction was the one thing he had not been sure of.

De Soto had been deceived as well, while part of his own past and how he came to Los Angeles was false, it was mostly true. The part about being sent by the King—or so he believed—was true. He had no idea that the Governor had lied to him about that like he had to everyone else.

Now he did.

De Soto came running out of the cuartel's office, the paper in hand. He saw Diego leaning against a support on the stoop of the Guardian's office and stalked over to him. "What is the meaning of this… these _lies_?"

"I was as surprised and angered as you," said Diego. "But the fact is we were all lied to. I saw the proof myself."

De Soto went as white as the paper Diego used to print the Guardian. " _Madre… de Dios_ …" he breathed in horror, and then he pulled himself together. "Don Diego, you need to retract this. Now."

Diego shook his head. "No, Alcalde, I cannot. Besides, it's too late now. Everyone has read it."

"Dammit, Diego, please see reason. Print another article—now—before it's too late. Say that you saw more proof that could perhaps muddy the waters, if you must. But, for your sake, _please_ …" de Soto closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself, but Diego had heard the pleading tone. "Even if it's true, Diego. Even if it's true, if the Governor and the others see this outside of Los Angeles, you will hang and not even Zorro will be able to help you. We _all_ could hang for it."

Diego pushed himself off the support and took the one step down off the porch in front of the Guardian's office. Ignacio didn't flinch as the much taller man stood almost toe to toe with him.

He wasn't being threatening. He was, however, examining de Soto for any sign of duplicity.

There was none.

No ulterior motive, other than showing a bit more of the white of his eyes out of fear. But he wasn't afraid of Diego… no… he was afraid _for_ him. Diego blinked and walked away as he paced in front of the office.

If de Soto was afraid for him, then he should take notice.

Diego looked at de Soto. "Thank you for your concern, and I mean that," said Diego softly. "But I cannot retract what I know to be true—especially not about this. The people deserve to know."

De Soto looked like he had been kicked, and he shook his head as he crumpled the paper up and stalked back to his own office. Diego watched him leave before he decided that he had enough of almost blurring the line between Poet and the unmasked Zorro. He was skirting dangerously close to having that cover blown.

It was close enough for lunch to close his office anyway, now that the paper was out, and head to the tavern for lunch. After a good meal, and pumping Mendoza for information, he could think about not only what de Soto had said, but how it had been said.

 _Later_ , he decided as took the last few steps before he was into the tavern itself. _All in due time_.

* * *

There was no point in remaining in town. While no one else had begged him to retract the article, there had been questions. Anger. Most wanting to know if it were true and if Diego had published a rumour. When told he had personally seen the proof, or he wouldn't have published the article, people had stared at him in horror.

But it was the glances in his direction as if considering other things that bothered him. His refusal to back down was dangerous close to his alter ego, but it wasn't the first time he had refused to retract an article.

When he had first started the paper, Luis Ramon had imprisoned him. He refused to back down then. He wasn't going to now.

Granted, going up against the Governor and his support was far more dangerous than just one corrupt alcalde.

Diego sighed as he rode up to the hacienda, and then to the stables to cool down and groom Esparanza before heading into the house. As he stepped inside the cool interior, he sighed again in relief as he peeled off the sweaty blue jacket.

Esparanza may have enjoyed a more challenging and quicker ride, she was like Dulcinea in that respect if less ornery, but she wasn't as young as she used to be either. "Diego!" he heard moments after his father came around the corner.

His father stopped and stared at him for a moment, and Diego could see the paper in his hand. He sighed again. "I see you read it."

"Indeed, I did," answered Alejandro and he followed his son through the hacienda and into Diego's sitting room. "This article…"

"It's true. Every word of it," answered Diego. "In fact, I had to leave a few things out in the interest of brevity, but I saw the proof of it with my own eyes!"

" _Madre de Dios_ ," breathed Alejandro, and Diego snorted.

If only his father knew how many times he had heard that in response to this morning's paper. It seemed to come out of the mouth of every man, and some of the women, as they stared in wordless shock at the Guardian after.

"I'm not the first to ask, am I?" asked Alejandro, and when Diego shook his head he continued. "I can imagine how many people stopped you and I suddenly understand why you're here for lunch and not at Victoria's."

Diego rolled his eyes. "I may have taken a harder and faster ride by a more circular route than I usually do to just get away from it all."

"And now you'd like a bath to wash off the stable," mused Alejandro, and then he shook his head. "You do realize that this one article has put you in far more danger than riding as Zorro has ever done."

"It has crossed my mind, but I couldn't just leave it," answered Diego. "The people deserved to know."

Heavy knocking on the door of the hacienda echoed, and Alejandro groaned. Diego echoed the groan and shook his head, shrugging on the blue jacket again and he straightened his tie before he followed his father out to the Sala just as Antonio was leading the Alcalde into the house. "Not this again," muttered Diego under his breath, and he ignored his father's glare.

"Alcalde," greeted Alejandro. "It must have been a long and hot ride from the pueblo."

" _Si_ ," answered de Soto. "But I feel our conversation was cut short, Don Diego, so it was worth it. I'm sorry if I sound rude, Don Alejandro, but I need to talk sense into your son."

Alejandro snorted. "Trust me, you're welcome to try."

"Diego, can we sit down and talk, please?" asked de Soto, for once dropping the formality.

"Alcalde, whatever you want to say to me can be said in front of my father," began Diego, but de Soto raised a hand.

"Please, Diego, I'm not here as the Alcalde. I'm here simply as Ignacio and your former university classmate. Perhaps even as a friend," said de Soto, as Diego led him into the library. "Even if I were, I don't have the men to drag you back to the cuartel's prison."

"Why not?" asked Alejandro.

"Bandits," answered de Soto. "I had to send Mendoza out to look into a report of an ambush between here and Monterrey. Someone said they'd seen a horse wandering along the road, but no rider."

Diego lifted a brow, but beyond that didn't interrupt him. As they sat down, with de Soto on the settee, and his father in one chair while Diego sat in another by the fireplace. His father lifted a brow at the unconscious placement, especially with what was hidden behind the fireplace, but said nothing.

"Diego, you know this article could get you killed," said de Soto. "The people who would be affected by this negatively won't hesitate to just make you disappear, and then the news with it. And even if the news doesn't disappear, your disappearance would be enough to keep the people quiet in fear of it happening to them next. You're a don, a cabellero. If it can happen to you, then no one would be safe."

"And you'd think Zorro would stand for that?" asked Alejandro.

De Soto shook his head. "I don't think even he could stop it. Knowing him, he wouldn't rest until he found your son, but it would mean leaving Los Angeles to do it. Diego would disappear into a dark hole of a prison far from here, or dead and buried in a dark pit in one of them. I wouldn't be able to stop it."

"So, you believe me now, then?" asked Diego and he ignored another glare from his father. _Father is scared for me. I'm scared for me too, but I can't let it stop me_.

"It makes sense," answered de Soto and he leaned back. "I know I said I was picked by the King—in truth, I thought I had been. But I lied about where it happened. I wasn't in Madrid. I was in Monterrey. I thought it was my big chance to prove myself and get to go back to Spain, but it was all a lie, wasn't it?"

Diego kept his expression neutral. "I'm sorry."

De Soto sighed heavily and stared at his hands. "So. Even my mission of catching Zorro is a lie. My time here has been a total waste. No matter, if I can't go back to Spain, I may as well make the best of it."

"Why can't you go back to Spain?" asked Alejandro.

"I fell into the wrong crowd at University," answered de Soto. "Liberals, supporters of a constitutional monarchy and an actual constitution in Spain. Ferdinand… was not a supporter and when he regained his power the first thing he did was abolish all that hard work. The last thing he did was wipe out the supporters. Many of us left before the axe fell… me included."

Diego shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and he watched his father lift a brow. "If you're so out of favour with the King, how did you figure that catching Zorro would help?" asked Diego finally.

"Zorro is a symbol for the constitution," answered de Soto. "A symbol for those who feel they are, or were, oppressed. Catching that symbol in the name of the King would have created a stronger one. But, if it was never the King who authorized the warrant, then it would simply be murder, wouldn't it? And that would ensure my permanent exile. I don't want that. It may be self serving, but I want to go home."

"So, what now then?" asked Alejandro. "Are you going to continue chasing Zorro?"

De Soto shook his head. "I don't know. I'll probably make a giant show of doing so, because I have to, but I'll probably develop this sudden inability to hit the broad side of a barn like the lancers."

He stood up and they stood up with him. "When will Mendoza be back?" asked Alejandro, noticing his son had gone to the window to gaze out of it.

De Soto looked at his pocket watch. "He could already be back," answered de Soto. "And I should be there to take his full report. Until later, Don Alejandro, Don Diego…"

Diego nodded, but didn't say anything, his attention back to the window and the view outside again. Alejandro escorted de Soto to the door and, just before the man took his leave again, he turned to Alejandro. "I meant what I said, you know."

"For once, I believe you," said Alejandro.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 _December 11th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles, California_

Alejandro, like everyone else, were drawn to the sound of galloping hooves of numerous horses as they rode into the middle of the market square. He drew in a breath.

The Governor.

 _So soon_ , thought Alejandro grimly.

As de Soto came out of the cuartel, he glanced over at Alejandro before he looked down at the ground and shook his head.

"Where is he?" demanded the Governor, not even dismounting from his horse.

"Who, Senor Governor?" asked de Soto. "I regret to say that I cannot summon Zorro by simple demand and, thank _Dios_ , there has been very little bandit activity to draw him out."

"Don Diego de la Vega," spat the Governor, as he threw a crumpled-up paper on the ground.

The Guardian.

Alejandro was pretty sure it was the very edition that revealed everything, too. Only one edition could have riled the Governor so much.

"I'm not sure where he is," answered de Soto, and Alejandro could have kissed the man for the bland way he was deflecting.

Almost as if the Alcalde was buying his son time.

Diego wouldn't run though.

Alejandro could hope he would but knowing what he knew now he knew his son would never run away from this fight. He closed his eyes, said a silent prayer, and then stepped out from under the veranda of the tavern. "Governor! What a pleasant surprise. Despite everything."

"Don Alejandro," said the Governor, his eyes thinning. "Where is your son?"

"I'm right here," answered Diego as he stepped out of the Guardian's office. "Did you need something, Governor?"

The way he stressed the word made it clear that he knew perfectly well that the polite appearances and deference to titles were a farce. He wanted the Governor to know it. Alejandro listened, his heart in his throat.

If he hadn't known his son was Zorro, he would have at this moment. There was no bland, retiring "the Poet" in this Diego. The self assured, but quiet, confidence was all Zorro, but also something else.

 _This is the real Diego_ , realized Alejandro. _The full coin instead of seeing one side or the other_.

A tempered Zorro, but bolder Poet. This was the man that had been robbed of his life when forced to ride as Zorro and then hide it as the Poet. A single man torn in two.

Alejandro's heart broke. It had taken nearly ten years to finally meet his real son.

Only to perhaps lose him in the same breath.

 _Please be careful son_ , pleaded Alejandro. _Be careful but be bold. You are a de la Vega. Never doubt it_.

"Don Diego, your article in the Guardian," said the Governor. "Retract it. I want you to find every single last copy of that paper and burn it."

"No."

"What?" demanded the Governor, his eyebrows rising.

He looked around at the other men, and even at de Soto, who simply shrugged. Finally, he turned back to Diego.

"I said you will retract it, find all of those papers. Burn them, and then you will personally write me an apology and put that in your next edition," ordered the Governor. "And then you are coming back to Monterrey with me where you will personally state that you printed something by mistake from the balcony of the mansion where everyone will hear it on market day."

"No," stated Diego again, as he crossed his arms. "To do that would mean that I stated an untruth, but I saw the proof of its accuracy with my own eyes. I will not go back on something I said when for a fact I know it to be true."

There was a collective gasp from everyone watching. Alejandro knew what they heard. A few had begun to mutter the name Zorro as they made the connection, and he could see a few pitying glances.

 _Stay strong, son_ , thought Alejandro. _But be careful_.

"I hereby order you to retract it!" shouted the Governor.

"And I said I will not," answered Diego, firmly but without raising his voice.

The Governor motioned to the soldiers with him. "Men, arrest him," he turned to de Soto. "You. I am taking over your cuartel and you will answer straight to me. Drag this sorry piece of dirt into the jail right now."

"No," came de Soto's answer. "I believe him."

The Governor's face turned red.

"Fine then, you are relieved of duty," said the Governor. "And you," he pointed to another soldier in his command, "You, will drag Diego de la Vega to the stocks and put him in them."

"No!" shouted Alejandro, as he took a step forward.

"Not one word, Don Alejandro, or you will join him," said the Governor, as he tried to gain control of the prancing horse underneath him as it had been made excited by his rider's agitation. "Now, soldier."

"Yes, sir," said the soldier as he dismounted.

Others did as well.

Alejandro saw his son take a deep breath and slide one foot back in a familiar stance.

While he didn't have a sword, he could defend himself if he had to. "Resist, Don Diego, and not only will you die here and now, but so will everyone in your household."

Alejandro saw Diego pale, and he let his weight fall back onto his heels from the balls of his feet. The fight seemed to leave him, and he looked over at his father once. Regret filled his son's blue eyes and he held up his arms.

"I surrender," was his quiet reply.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

 _December 14th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles_

Normally, when a prisoner had been put into the pillory, the townsfolk would visit all sorts of humiliation on them. Rotten vegetables would be thrown at their head. Clothing torn. Boot marks would mysteriously land on exposed posteriors.

None of that happened to Diego.

Instead of humiliation, water was brought to him by children to soothe his parched throat after being left there during the heat of the day. Old men mysteriously lost track of their hats to shade his head from the sun. Old ladies lost their shawls to keep him warm at night.

The only vegetables that came near his head came in the form of broth fed to him during the night by local soldiers.

All of this kept his strength up.

After days of no apparent weakening, the Governor had him removed from the stocks and then thrown into the prison. Diego rubbed sore wrists and tried to ignore the rub mark around his neck.

The Governor walked into the jail and asked, "Are you going to retract?"

"No," answered Diego, his voice a little hoarse from the pillory. "And I never will."

The Governor snarled and slammed the door on his way out. Diego sighed, wondering what else he could come up with and if he had the strength to escape it. While the townsfolk had helped him keep his strength, the days and nights had been long. There was no way to sleep in the pillory, and he was exhausted. He also hadn't eaten properly either, only the thin broth smuggled to him when the soldiers could.

The answer to what the Governor could do came at night when he was woken from a doze by a bucket of water. He jumped in shock right before being dragged out of the cell and into the cuartel yard and tied to a post.

As he hugged the post, he realized what they intended.

The first crack of the whip made him close his eyes and prepare for it, but he still gasped when the whip bit into his back. He had no idea how long it went on, but he held off from crying out until his knees gave out from under him and he hung from his bonds against the post. "Cut him down and put him back in the cell. We'll see if he still feels the same in the morning."

He was dimly aware of being dragged back into the cell and dropped on the floor. The door shut with a clang.

He wanted desperately to pass out from the pain.

But the pain wouldn't let him.

The door opened quietly, and then so did his cell. "Oh, Don Diego…" breathed Mendoza, as he cleaned his back. "This isn't right. Even the Alcalde said the article had to be true."

"I'm all right," whispered Diego.

"Maybe Zorro will come?" said Mendoza hopefully. "If anyone deserves his intervention, it's certainly you."

Diego groaned once, but still chuckled. "Perhaps, but I doubt he will be able to do anything."

After awhile, he couldn't keep his eyes open and let Mendoza's whispered support lull him into sleep while he worked on Diego's back.

The morning brought another bucket of water, and Diego gasped as the shock of being woken was also paired by the pain from his back. "So, is the article still true, Diego?" asked the Governor. "Or have you had a new perspective?"

Diego whispered something, and the Governor strained to hear it. "What was that?" asked the Governor, thinking the man had finally broken.

His reputation would certainly suggest that he should have by now.

Diego was pretty sure the whole pueblo had expected him to break by now.

The Governor leaned in.

"I said…" began Diego.

"Yes?"

"I said… go… to… hell!" spat out Diego, the last nearly a shout, or as close as his voice would allow. "Do your worst. Every moment I don't give in, the people become surer in that the article is true. If you kill me, you still lose."

The Governor scowled. "On your own head be it, de la Vega. I hope your father has a nice plot picked out for your grave. He'll need it."

* * *

The first scream of pain from the cuartel caused Alejandro to jump to his feet. He wasn't the only one that stood up. All the other dons did as well, and he saw Victoria hug her tray close to her chest as her eyes widened.

"Five days," breathed Don Emilio. "It took five days to get him to scream, but he still hasn't given up."

Alejandro felt his heart constrict with each strangled cry, and he saw Felipe cover his ears. _So, you can hear_ , realized Alejandro. _Oh,_ hijo _, I wish I had learned this secret under far better circumstances_ …

"They can't do that to him," said Victoria. "He's a cabellero. A cousin to the King…"

De Soto moved over to her and took the tray from her hands. "Don Alejandro, I think you are better equipped for this than I am. Might I suggest that she spend time at your hacienda?"

Alejandro nodded, "Yes, of course. Felipe will take her. I would recommend that all the women and children be escorted back home."

De Soto smiled grimly as he pulled another piece of paper from his pocket, one that had bloodstains on it. "Yes, I think I would agree. I think it's time we talked… dons and the local lancers, I think?"

Alejandro looked over at de Soto, and the papers he held. The letter had been opened, but it was the passport and folder—a dark red folder stamped with the Spanish Royal Seal, that grabbed his attention. "Mendoza found this on the body of a young man near a wandering horse—the one I told you about before. It changes everything."

"I think you're right," said Alejandro.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 _December 20th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles, California_

The room in the mission was small, but it was large enough to fit the dons and a few others. Alejandro could sense how angry the dons were. He could feel the very air crackling. He almost pitied de Soto and watched him shift from foot to foot slightly. "Are you saying that Risendo, the governor, all the others… they're not even from Spain?" asked Don Emilio, as he jumped up from his chair and it fell to the side. "To whom have we been paying taxes? Not Mexico, because they had no idea. How many years have we been in this limbo?"

There were grumbles of agreement and de Soto held up his hand to hold back the worst of their anger. "It was necessary to maintain some illusion of control before things fell to complete and total anarchy."

"And how long did you think you could keep this from us?" asked another don.

"So long as we could keep things paid with the tax money brought in…" de Soto bit his lip as their expressions darkened. "Fair tax money—I don't mean excessive taxes. So long as we didn't overspend and kept up the necessities, as long as was necessary until Mexico officially stepped in and brought us the necessary support."

Alejandro fought to keep himself from shaking his head. It always came down to the taxes, but this time the Alcalde had a point. It wasn't the right time to fight about it, though. Not with Diego tortured to the point of screaming not fifty feet away from where they all stood.

"That has taken years, though," said Don Emilio. "In the mean time, we've been slowly overrun by bandits. If not for Zorro, you'd have lost the pueblo a long time ago."

With that, de Soto sighed. "All right, I admit. We would have been lost, if not for Zorro."

"Now then, was that so hard?" asked Don Alejandro, stepping forward now that de Soto had finished speaking. "Now, since you've admitted that the government is all but broke and that Luis Ramon didn't have the authority to issue the bounty in the first place, especially not in the name of the King who relinquished control years before… perhaps you can quietly tear up those wanted posters and that warrant? Not that it was ever legal to begin with."

"I have already taken the liberty of doing so. The Lancers will no longer hunt him," said de Soto. "But we have a larger issue right now than Zorro. That man was a Left Hand of the King, and who ever killed him committed an act of war on Spain."

The other dons stared at de Soto, horror—yet confusion—on their faces. "Forgive the ignorance… I am familiar with a King's Hand, but not a Left."

"A Left Hand is the same as a normal Hand, but for one large difference," explained de Soto. "A normal hand is like a right hand. What the King needs done gets done, and the Hand does it. However, it is a public office. People know of the hand—he is the King's trusted general and advisor. A Left Hand also does what the King needs done, by any means necessary… but unlike the advisor their job is done in the shadows."

"Tales to scare children," said one of the dons. "They don't exist."

"I can personally tell you that they do," said de Soto. "When I was in Madrid, at University, the King sent recruiters to pick those they felt would best fit. Swordsmen, those with cunning, charm, and intelligence. Man or woman. I was picked but didn't make the final cut, so to speak. My sword skills were lacking, and my loyalty found wanting."

"Good heavens," breathed Don Emilio. "Did anyone pass?"

"I heard, through rumour, that five did indeed pass all the tests and then were sent immediately into the field. One man managed to do what the others could not… and he alone became the Left Hand while the others worked for him," said de Soto. "From then on, I could guess what happened from there, but I don't actually know."

"Why was a Left Hand here?" asked Alejandro.

"He had a missive on him," answered de Soto, and he leaned back. "It wasn't even a coded message."

"Can you say, or do you want to?"

"I think I have to. I don't know where to find him, so I have no idea how hand the missive to him. With it not being coded but obviously from the King personally, I should think the message should get through," pointed out de Soto.

"And that is?"

"For the Fox to return to Spain."

Silence met him, as a room of horrified men stared at him.

Alejandro sat down heavily in the chair after straightening it back up. The Fox could only mean Zorro, and if he was being told to return to Spain then he had been working for the King the entire time.

His son, Diego.

Alejandro had left the military to keep his sons, if he'd ever had more than Diego, from the same fate as his. The same fate as his own brother who had been killed in the line of duty.

But, as usual, Diego had done exactly the opposite as Alejandro would have expected him to.

 _Oh, Diego, why?_ He wondered. _I would have understood_ that _more than being an outlaw. I understand duty. I understand that._ Dios _, son, why hide it?_

" _Madre de Dios_ ," murmured one of the dons, giving voice to what Alejandro felt. "The whole time?"

De Soto nodded slowly.

"Frightening thought isn't it?" asked Alejandro. "Knowing that the one you've hunted was your ticket back to Spain the whole time."

"Just not the way I thought he was? Trust me when I say that thought definitely crossed my mind," admitted de Soto. "But that neither here nor there. The fact is that Don Diego has no reason to retract his statements or the article in the Guardian because it's true. All of it is true."

"Zorro will save him!" exclaimed one of the other dons.

Alejandro stifled a groan and didn't contradict the man. However, there would be no Zorro this time. "I think it's time that we stopped relying on Zorro," said Alejandro. "He was recalled to Spain and could very well be on his way back there already. We need to stand up for ourselves."

De Soto nodded. "Much as I hate to say it, Zorro always seemed to know what I did before I did. Don Alejandro could very well be right, and even if he should turn back he could very well be too late to help Don Diego. No, this is up to us."

"First things first, we need to get Don Diego out of the jail," said Don Emilio. "If we go up against this pretender, he will use Diego as a shield. The best thing to do would be to remove that shield."

"He's been tortured, though," said Mendoza, shaking his head. "He wouldn't be strong enough to run out on his own. We'd have to sneak him out—and we'd have to carry him to someplace close by for him to recover."

Both de Soto and Alejandro looked at the Sergeant in horror. "They tortured my son?" asked Alejandro, his voice low and even.

Mendoza swallowed nervously. "I am sorry. I couldn't stop them. The best I could do was take care of his wounds the best I could—they even refused to let me get the doctor."

"I'll kill the man," growled Alejandro, standing up, and he gestured with his hands. "With my bare hands."

Emilio stopped him. "Calm down, Alejandro, you charging in there like a bull will get him killed, and you along with him—and then we'd be back to square one. Mendoza is right but we need to do it with a plan."

"I won't let him spend another night in that jail," hissed Alejandro.

"Then we come up with something, tonight, and we get him out quickly," said de Soto, and then he snapped his fingers. "The mission. The construction of the new church gave it many new little nooks and crannies for a man to disappear. I am sure the padre would help us, considering the situation.

Alejandro nodded. "Yes, I imagine he would. But how do we get him from the jail to the mission?"

Mendoza stepped forward. "Leave that to me and Sevapulda. Diego has helped us before. I owe him, and the others are just as angry about being lied to. They don't trust this governor to actually pay us."

* * *

Alejandro had no idea how his son had done this over the years. To him, it felt like too much time was spent waiting in the shadows. He saw Mendoza enter the cuartel.

Numerous gun shots sounded outside the pueblo.

Don Emilio and a few others, dressed as bandits, as a distraction.

Alejandro held his breath.

The gates opened, and the guards left. The Governor swore colourfully at the disturbance but returned back to his room in the tavern. Alejandro watched as Pilar looked around, and then moved back within as well.

The jail was left empty.

A few moments later, Mendoza and the few men he felt he could trust came back out, half carrying and half dragging a limp figure between them.

Diego.

Alejandro bit back a cry. To shout his son's name now would undo them all. He opened the mission's doors as Mendoza and his men ran within before letting them fall closed again. Padre Benitez led them down a set of stairs into a basement below, one not part of the crypts but definitely leading to them. He touched a hidden switch and a bookcase swiveled aside to reveal another chamber where they had set up a cot and Dr. Hernandez waited inside with Felipe.

If everything went to plan, Emilio should have disbanded his men and they all disappeared like Zorro into the night.

Diego was laid down on a cot and Alejandro clenched his fists as the well-lit room revealed the extent of his son's injuries. While he had not been stripped of his clothing, the repeated whipping had torn his shirt and back into ribbons and it bled freely despite Mendoza's efforts to bandage and stem the bleeding. His torso was bruised, and the bruises suspiciously shaped like boots.

Mendoza and the other soldiers slipped out and away, back to where they were expected to be by the Governor and the others Mendoza hadn't trusted.

The door closed, as the Padre retreated back upstairs and to his own bed—all to appear as if he had no idea and was innocent of the entire affair himself.

Felipe signed something, but he had to do it twice and then a third time for Alejandro to catch its meaning.

 _Go back to the hacienda. It will be the first place they look. If you're not there, they'll know for sure_.

Alejandro drew a breath to disagree, but he looked from Hernandez to Felipe, and then to his broken son. _Now, before it's all undone_ , signed Felipe.

"Fine," said Alejandro, and he pointed at Felipe. "But I'm taking him home when it's safe, and without it hurting him any worse. And we're not done with this Governor… not by a long shot."

* * *

 _December 21st, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles, California_

Alejandro watched as de Soto followed the other man out of the caurtel's office and into the street. The first thing Ignacio did was pause, noticing the silence. It was noon on a Tuesday, and it being in the middle of December it wasn't warm enough for people to run and hide from the heat of the sun for siesta… even if it had been near siesta in the first place.

Which it wasn't.

The market should have been busy, but only empty stalls as if they had set up for market and then abandoned it shortly after. Not even the market's products were on display.

Just as Alejandro and the dons had planned it.

"What in the?" began the Governor. "Where are all the people?"

De Soto shook his head, and Alejandro pelt a small pang of regret that today could be the day that the younger man died.

He had instigated this himself. He had to know what was coming.

Perhaps he just didn't think it would be this soon.

Don Alejandro led the other dons, all armed with swords, pistols… some even with rifles… out into the pueblo's market square.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the Governor. "You gentleman are rebelling against the King."

"The King?" said Don Alejandro, as he lifted a brow and looked over at one of the other dons. "He's telling us we're opposing the King. Senor, we know that Spain hasn't held California since at least 1810, since the French imprisoned him. He may be free now, but his authority no longer stretches here—and as someone very loyal to the King and to Spain I find that the lies told to us for years appalling. Insulting. Not only do I demand satisfaction, we _all_ demand satisfaction."

The Governor took a step back and found himself up against a very still de Soto. "Alcalde de Soto arrest these men!" he demanded.

"I think, Senor, that you'll find that I, too, am loyal to the King of Spain. I am a Spaniard. Not a Californian," pointed out de Soto quietly. "And I'm just as angered by the lies as they are. You'll find no back-up from me or my _Royal_ Lancers, who, I remind you, swore fealty and their service to King Ferdinand. Not to you, or any of your other pretenders."

The Governor turned on him, drawing his sword halfway out of the sheath. "You dare!"

De Soto shoved the man's hand down so that the sword was sheathed again. "No, you dare!" shouted de Soto. "I have waited four long years to return to Spain, something you promised to me if I served as the Alcalde here and solved your Zorro problem… only now I find out "the Fox" may have been my ticket home, and into the King's favour, but not as his enemy. Not by capturing or killing him—because to do that would have been the equivalent to striking the King. You, Senor, lied to me as you lied to us all. I should hang you—these people would thank me for it. Hell, Mexico might do the same… and I am sure if I returned to Spain immediately after the King would reward me for it as well."

With each word, the Governor paled and took a step back, but de Soto continued to stalk him until he stood in the middle of the circle of dons. Whirling around, realizing he was trapped, his eyes widened.

"I think that's enough for one day," came a tired voice from outside of the circle.

Alejandro looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Zorro on the back of Toronado. Only, there was something off. Zorro sounded exhausted—as if he had ridden all day and all night to reach Los Angeles. He also leaned heavily in the saddle, fighting to remain upright.

"What are you doing here?" breathed Don Alejandro, not loud enough for Zorro to hear him but loud enough that de Soto caught it, and he saw the man look at him curiously.

"Hard ride?" asked de Soto.

Zorro inclined his head. "It's always a bit hard to be in two places at once, especially when the King expects to you be in one and you have a sudden need to be in another."

"Then it's true," said Don Emilio. "You always were working for the King."

"You know I can't answer that," pointed out Zorro, and Alejandro heard the regret.

Zorro wanted to answer it. Wanted to confirm it. To admit it would mean the price on his head was false. He would be free, after returning from Spain—if he did ever return from Spain—to live as a normal man and marry Victoria.

Alejandro found that he was hoping Zorro could answer.

"This has gone on long enough," said de Soto. "Lock up the Senor, and Zorro?"

Zorro looked over at him quizzically once he realized the Alcalde had no intention of arresting him.

"Marry the Senorita Escalante," said de Soto. "And then we can return to Spain."

Zorro grinned, and the grin reached his eyes. "Now, that, Alcalde, is indeed a request I can complete… if she'll still have me."

Victoria ran up, and then paused before she walked slowly the rest of the way to prevent spooking Toronado. "I will!" she answered. "I definitely will."

He lowered his hand to help her up, and she climbed up behind him on the saddle. Cheers and shouts went up as he rode around the market, Victoria's arms around his chest as she leaned her head against his back. Alejandro tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it as he watched.

Finally, Zorro returned to where he started in front of the cuartel's office. "You never did catch me."

"Oh?" asked de Soto. "Are you so sure?"

"Are we going to have a chase?"

De Soto laughed. "Senor Zorro define 'catch'. If by catch, you mean bring you before the King, then I have managed to get you to agree that it is time to return to Spain to report to him. Thus, I have indeed caught you."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 _Same day_  
 _de la Vega hacienda_  
 _Los Angeles_

"Diego!" called Alejandro as he walked into the front door. "Diego!"

Much to his relief, Diego came down the hallway as if he had been in his room, although the shadows under his eyes had not abated. He coughed and asked, "What is it, father?"

"You still look terrible," said Alejandro. "Did you not sleep at all?"

Diego chuckled and rubbed at his eyes. "For awhile I did."

"Well, after we talk, if you still feel like sleeping I think it would be a good idea go lie down for a bit longer."

Diego lifted an eyebrow but allowed his father to usher him into the library as he motioned for his son to sit down. Diego did, but Alejandro found that he couldn't. He paced one way and then the next, his eyes often falling on the fireplace he was sure had something to do with this. "I think it's time we talked seriously about duty and the price of it," said Alejandro, and he held up a hand before Diego had a chance to say anything. "No, son, I'm talking, and you will listen. And then you will accept what I have to say."

He saw a tiny bit of fear flicker in the blue depths of his son's eyes and he turned back to the shelves. "First, let me say how proud I am of you. At first, I wasn't. But, I suspect I understand now… and in that my pride swells to new heights. I fear I cannot contain it."

"I don't understand," started Diego, and Alejandro could hear honest confusion, but relief at the same time. "Why are you proud of me?"

"Here I thought my son was a lazy rich man's son. A noble that is only in term and not in deed." Alejandro swept back to his son and sat beside him on the divan. "But now I have learnt that my son is a true de la Vega. More so than I could have hoped or dreamed."

"You know," said Diego, the confusion gone from his voice.

There was relief there, and the despondency was gone too. Alejandro could have wept for joy at hearing the spirit returning to his son's voice. "Yes, I know!" exclaimed Alejandro. "I think I know everything… well… I understand. I understand why you couldn't tell me. I understand why you did it. I know about duty, especially _that_ kind of duty, son. And I'm proud of you. But I also understand the pain of secrecy and why we cannot tell anyone else."

Diego nodded. "I didn't want you hang with me, and what would you say about me being an outlaw…"

Alejandro stared at his son. "My dear boy, it is good you are still sitting down. When I said I knew, I mean I know _everything_. And, with that, I have something to tell you. I don't want you to react. I need you to dig deep and keep that calm you're infamous for."

"Father…"

Alejandro took a breath. "De Soto figured out who that man was, and where he came from," he said. "He had a missive on him, and it was sealed with the King's seal."

Diego sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. Moments later any sign of reaction vanished, and the bland Diego sat there. "What did the missive say?" he asked carefully and in even tones.

"It said 'It is time for the Fox to return to Spain'," answered Alejandro. "I can think of one Fox in all of Los Angeles, and for him to have been in educated in Madrid… I think so can you."

Diego stared at the fireplace and Alejandro sighed. "Son, I understand. More than you can possibly know. I won't ask because I also understand what 'above my pay grade' means, but if you need someone to share a cold, lonely night when your ghosts haunt you while nursing some brandy… well… I do the same thing for the same reason."

His son smiled, and while it didn't quite reach his eyes those same eyes were suspiciously bright and his voice almost too soft when he replied, "Thank you, father, I think I will have to take you up on that."

"Just don't leave it too long," answered Alejandro. "It looks like you have packing to do and business to see to. And you will go back to that Tavern. I don't care what you said to Victoria, you will take it back and you will bring her back her on Toronado if you have to… and after you come back from Spain I want my grandbabies."

Diego chuckled. "Very well, father, I will go talk to Victoria. Shall I do it now?"

He glanced at the fireplace.

"It would be best," said Alejandro. "Considering I figured it out by knowing you, like de Soto, were educated in Spain and that it was at the same time… and so was Zorro… it will not take others long to make the same connection, if they haven't already."

* * *

 _December 25th, 1824_  
 _Los Angeles, California_

Alejandro leaned back in his chair, sighing in satisfaction. For the first time in years he had a good feeling about what the new year would bring. He knew that soon he would lose his son for a bit as he had to return to Spain to report to the King, but that wasn't until much later.

He watched as Victoria and her staff hung decorations with the help of the local soldiers.

In four short days their lives had changed.

A real emissary, this one from Mexico, had finally arrived after letters to Mexico City—where their leadership was—reached the right people. While de Soto was no longer Alcalde, he had not left yet.

 _No, he won't leave unless Diego goes with him_ , mused Alejandro. _Whether he knows Diego is Zorro, and the Left Hand he is to escort back to Spain, is the real question_.

From what Felipe had told him, it would only be a matter of time before everyone knew. When Diego had woken this morning, he had been back in one of his secretive moods. Alejandro had learned to watch for the signs.

A bland Diego was one with something up his sleeve.

And Diego had been very, very bland.

Victoria walked over to Alejandro. "How is Diego doing? I heard he had a rough few days after a relapse a few days ago."

Alejandro frowned.

His bland Diego shouldn't have ridden to the pueblo to interfere as Zorro regarding the false Governor, but his presence had defused the situation before it came to actual violence. The people had been angry.

However, the merry mood his appearance and caused, even in de Soto had been well worth the pain especially now that the price on his head had been shown as equally false. Mexico's emissary had made it clear, however, that an agent of the King of Spain—no matter what deeds he had done for the people of Mexico—had no place in California or Mexico unless he retired and considered himself of California and whomever her government was.

Zorro had conditionally agreed—he would never raise arms against Mexico so long as Mexico never raised arms against Spain… at least, not after the revolution. Before four days ago was no longer his problem.

The Emissary had agreed that his terms were fair.

The price was removed, and a medal awarded for services rendered.

Alejandro remembered to breathe immediately after.

But no one knew who Zorro was.

When Alejandro had made it home, Felipe was there and not Diego. At first, Alejandro felt his heart drop thinking that Diego was laying on the ground somewhere in between the pueblo and his cave. But Felipe didn't look too worried, and when he had entered the hacienda he managed to pick out that Diego was already home, and that he was sleeping.

Relief had flooded him but had needed to see his son for himself. When he quietly slipped into his son's room and through the sitting room into the private sleeping chamber, he peeked in. Diego had been deeply asleep—so asleep that he doubted an entire herd of horses running past him could have roused him. He slept with the ease of a man who had finally finished his work and could rest completely and profoundly.

Alejandro had left as silently as he had entered, equally at ease once more.

He smiled up at Victoria. Diego was much better and had assured his father that he would be at the party.

He just hoped he didn't come as Zorro.

Alejandro blinked.

Or, perhaps he hoped Diego would… if only to unmask for his Senorita once and for all.

"Diego is doing much better," answered Alejandro, remembering that Victoria had asked him about his son and that he had failed to answer her. "He said he would be here later tonight."

"Good," said Victoria. "Should I reserve him a room just in case he gets tired again?"

"I think that would be prudent, yes," said Alejandro.

"Then I will."

She moved away just as people outside started to greet someone, and then exclaim in surprise. Don Emilio came skidding inside of the tavern and he immediately sought out Alejandro. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then only pointed outside. "You… old…"

"I'm still younger than two by a year, watch who you call old," retorted Alejandro.

"… Fox, did you know the whole time?" he asked finally.

Alejandro had a sudden feeling the surprise Diego had planned had just been sprung. He followed Don Emilio outside and watched with the others as Diego, on the back of a fully saddled and tacked out Toronado, rode into town. On his belt hung the infamous saber, won from Sir Edmund.

While he wore one of his best cabellero style suits, the colour was a blue so dark it could have been black. The only reason it didn't look black was the afternoon sun brightened it to a midnight blue.

Other than that, he was his usually perfectly groomed self.

Zorro without not only without the silk and black clothing, but without his mask. He heard the gasp behind him, and he glanced at Victoria, who had also just realized who she was looking at. She turned to Alejandro, lightly punching him in the arm.

"You could have told me," she said.

"I didn't really know until a maybe around a week ago," said Alejandro. "And by then we had other issues."

She frowned, her eyes widening. " _Dios_ , yes. How is he, truly? He shouldn't have come to town a few days ago—you said he relapsed. That ride as Zorro must have exhausted him."

Alejandro shrugged. "He slept well that night and into the morning. He was tired, and a bit ill, yes, but not too bad. Not well enough to ride into town until today and if he had tried I would have tied him to his bed with his own whip."

"Good," said Victoria. "And that room is definitely booked. If he even looks like he's trying to keep his eyes open, I'll pour his cactus tea down his throat myself."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

As soon as he dismounted from Toronado and could enter the tavern by the people thanking him for his bravery—both as Zorro and as the editor of the Guardian, Diego could see Victoria's glare. Eyes were on them now. They expected her to throw him out, he knew. That or run over and kiss him.

Victoria was probably considering both.

Which would come first remained to be seen.

"I think we need to talk," she said finally, holding the curtain aside for him to head into the kitchen.

Neither was unexpected. Diego ignored the thin sliver of fear and the knot in his throat and calmly—almost blandly—walked into the kitchen and quickly found his spot where he usually stood to talk to her. Turning, he saw her staring at him.

"Victoria…" he began.

"It's hard," she said. "I have no idea how I managed to _not_ see it. It's hard to _not_ see it. Same everything and yet I was blind to him the entire time... to _you_ the entire time. I had convinced myself that it couldn't be true."

"Did you suspect?"

"I did," she answered. "Numerous times, but then I'd talk myself out of it. I kept telling myself you had to be two men. I hoped you weren't two different men, but at the same time I did."

Diego was confused. "I disappointed you."

"No, no!" she waved her hands and then took a step forward. "No, never that, Diego. I love both your poetic and bookish side and your mysterious man of action side. They are two sides of the same coin. What one you show depends on the situation."

"Then why hope I wasn't?" he asked.

"Because if you were ever caught, I didn't want it to be you they hung," she answered, wiping her eyes at the same time. "Losing both of you would have been too hard to bear. It probably would have killed me. At least, if I believed you were at least safe… oh, I'm not making any sense."

She turned and slammed her hands on her work table.

"I also hoped you weren't," she answered as she turned back around to face him. "Because I wasn't sure if you could ever marry someone like me. You're a cabellero, a true noble of Spain—thanks to your mother and other family—while I am just a simple tavern owner."

Diego took a step forward and lifted her chin. "Victoria, when I was in Spain, all I could think of was you. I thought Zafira could fill in that gaping hole where you belonged, but when I was stood up, I realized she wasn't the one for me. You are. I wish I had courted you as me and not Zorro. If I had, we would have been married by now and my father a very happy man with little grandchildren running through the hacienda. Beautiful and smart like their mother."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, you're the smart one…"

"I have book smarts, and learning, but you have wisdom and work experience, and life experience," he said. "And you are smart. It takes a good head for business and math to keep a business running. You have both. Had you the same education as me, I can easily see you running circles around me in smarts. Don't you ever doubt that."

She finally took the final steps forward and wrapped her arms around his ribs, careful of the bruising, as she leaned her head against his chest. As she listened to his heart, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair.

"I take it you forgive me for not telling you about Zorro earlier?" he asked.

"Not yet," she groused, rubbing his back. "But perhaps some day soon I will. How badly were you hurt by the pretender's men?"

Diego sighed, and she could hear it in his chest. "I'll live."

"But you're not completely well yet," she realized in horror, and she pushed back a little bit to examine his face. "You should still be resting."

He lifted a brow, and then chuckled. "Plenty of time for that later. Right now, I want to catch up on the time I've let slip by while I carried on my one-man mission as Zorro."

"Fine, then, but after you sit and rest, even at the party," she pointed out.

* * *

Night had fallen, and the music that filtered out of the tavern was merry. De Soto stepped out of the office that Mexico was allowing him to hold until an election replaced him. He looked over at Alejandro and waved. Alejandro waved back, and he was surprised by the tiny pang of regret again.

Ignacio, as a Spanish citizen and not Mexican, would not be allowed to run in the election. Alejandro stepped into the street as de Soto nodded to one of the soldiers. "Feliz Navidad," he greeted quietly. "I am sorry that you have to work tonight of all nights."

"It is no trouble, Alcalde," answered the lancer. "With your permission, we can take turns on watch so that we can all have a chance to greet the townspeople and enjoy a bit of the party."

"Granted," said the Alcalde, and he turned to go find Mendoza just as Alejandro stepped onto the caurtel's porch.

He waited, not wanting to interrupt what could be Ignacio's last actions as alcalde.

It didn't take long to find Mendoza, and he came out of the office at a run. De Soto stepped up to him, and looked for a moment like he would dress the man down like he had in the past. "Mendoza, I have authorized the men to take turns on watch so that you can all enjoy Senorita Escalante's tavern—if you remain sober, that is—before she marries Don Diego."

"Why would you think she would do that?" asked Mendoza, and Alejandro remembered that the Sergeant hadn't seen Diego ride into town earlier.

De Soto had.

"Let's just say that Don Diego has a very familiar and large black horse, with some incredible tack and bridle. Black leather with silver conchos, if I'm not mistaken… and a unique saber," answered de Soto.

Mendoza wasn't a stupid man. He connected the dots quickly and his eyebrows rose. "Zorro was the younger Don de la Vega?" he exclaimed, and then he grinned as he looked over at Alejandro. "This is good news. My friend is also my friend outside of the mask… and Senorita Victoria will have the wedding she wants."

"So will you, I imagine," mused de Soto, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. "I have a feeling your desire for grandchildren will increase tenfold, now that you know your son has the freedom—and the wife—to make your wish true."

Mendoza snorted, and he saw the mischief in the former Alcalde's eyes, but Alejandro chose to ignore it. "Si, this is very true. You should go over and wish the happy couple a very Merry Christmas," agreed Alejandro. "Both of you."

De Soto led the Sergeant to the tavern as Alejandro paused to watch. It was possibly the last time the other man would ever follow him. With a small smile, Alejandro caught up with them. They entered in time to watch Diego finish dancing with Victoria. As the music stopped, the two paused.

Mendoza pointed above their heads and pointed out, above the din and the fading music, "Don Diego, Senorita, look above you. Mistletoe."

The two looked up, and the grin on Diego's face was wolfish as he swept Victoria to him again and kissed her soundly while dipping her slightly. Her arms wrapped around his back and her hands tangled in his hair as she met his lips with equal passion.

Alejandro gasped, and then stepped out onto the dance floor, tapping his son on the shoulder. "None of that before you're married!" he exclaimed. "And then you can do that all you want to give me my grandchildren!"


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 _July 16th, 1825_  
 _Madrid, Spain_

Diego leaned on the stone railing overlooking the city had had been back to in nearly ten years. Behind him, somewhere within the room, was the King of Spain, Ferdinand. The city was the same, and yet so different. It seemed to have grown but from where he stood it still appeared the same hustle and bustle of a city this size.

He didn't miss it at all.

His heart was still in California.

Ferdinand joined him on the balcony. "What do you see when you stare out over the city, my old friend?"

Diego shrugged. "Madrid."

Ferdinand snorted and shook his head, trying to keep the amused smile off his face. "How wonderfully specific. Nice to see that hasn't changed about you at all."

Diego only shrugged again.

"When did you know that the Governor and the others were pretenders?" asked Ferdinand.

"I didn't," answered Diego. "Not until the end when I travelled to Monterrey to confirm it for myself. I mean, we knew that something wasn't right. But the people sent appeared to be genuine. I was suspicious, but suspicions mean nothing until you have proof of it."

Ferdinand harrumphed. "And so you acted alone—even when it appeared my men had abandoned their posts, abandoned their orders and were racketeering—all in my name, I add. While you let everyone think you were the outlaw. You could have stepped in and made known what you were and they…"

"… Would have killed me on the spot," answered Diego. "Luis Ramon made no secret of it. It wouldn't have mattered how legitimate my claim. De Soto wasn't much better, but he was under the impression that things were 'by your command' and kept to the status quo."

"Yes, I will have to deal with him," said Ferdinand.

"Go easy on him," suggested Diego. "Once he found out, before me—mind you—he was the first to go to my father and advise him of the situation. I was imprisoned for reporting the story and the only person de Soto knew had actual links to you was my father."

"Duly noted," said Ferdinand. "I cannot abide what he was part of, but if he is as innocent of knowing what he was part of as you say—let me finish, old friend—then he is as much a victim of this 'Governor' as you and the rest of Los Angeles. Perhaps even the rest of California. What matters is that he acted in my actual name and for Spain, and for the people he was charged to protect, in the end. With that said, what happens now?"

Diego shook his head and stared out over the city again. "I don't know. What does the King of Spain think I should?"

"The King feels that you have served him better than he expected, done more than what was expected," answered Ferdinand. "Very rarely is the term 'above and beyond the call of duty' used in court, but in this case it certainly fits el Zorro as my Left Hand."

"I think Zorro should retire," said Diego, with a deep sigh as he pushed himself away from the railing and followed the King back inside the office within the palace. "I know I feel like I could."

"Then I accept your retirement… again. You forget that you retired once already when your father asked you to go back to California," said Ferdinand, and Diego felt like the other weight that had tied him down was lifted. "What will you do now? You could move back to Madrid. I could give you a title, even lands, in Spain. It is where you belong. Retired or no, I would like to keep my Hand close."

Diego bowed but then shook his head. "While I realize the gracious gift you want to grant me, I must refuse. My home is in California. It is where I left my heart."

The King frowned, and Diego knew he wasn't exactly pleased by his answer. But, then Ferdinand shook his head and smiled. "Very well. If that is what you want, then that is what you will have… but I am still granting you a title. It is one with no land, and very little actual power other than my deepest respect and the influence that grants."

"Generous enough," pointed out Diego. "And far more than I expected when I started this."


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _Perhaps the biggest change to California came in 1827 when all Spanish born citizens were exiled from Mexico and Mexican territories. Most of those exiled were those who had come as 'men of the cloth'—religious leaders from the Catholic church._

 _This didn't affect the de la Vegas._

 _Even Alejandro, now into his sixties, had been born in California—in the hacienda he called home—as had Diego and Felipe._

 _If De Soto hadn't left when Diego went to Spain to make his report to the King as the Left Hand, he would have had to leave anyway._

 _None of the Spanish born, or those who chose to remain loyal to the King of Spain, residents could stay. They didn't have to return to Spain, but many did. Others moved further north or east into the United States, some as far as Canada. Others moved South._

 _Diego de la Vega returned to Los Angeles a hero, his time spent as Zorro seen as a sacrifice of service to both the Crown, and to Mexico as he had always defended the people against tyranny and oppression._

 _On his return, he finally married Victoria in a large ceremony attended by what felt like the entire pueblo of Los Angeles and then some as people travelled from as far away as Monterrey and Santa Paula to attend. If they couldn't be in the church, they crowded the market square in front of the church, sitting on balconies and terraces hoping to catch a glimpse of Zorro without the mask._

 _Only close family and friends were permitted into the church itself, and despite this the church was still quite crowded full of de la Vegas and Escalantes, as well as a few of the townspeople… and one certain, now retired, sergeant of the lancers who stood in the wedding party as one of the groomsmen._

 _Diego and Victoria de la Vega had numerous children, and even a set of twin girls with their father's blue eyes. Alejandro was beside himself with pride with each new birth._

 _The cave was opened to the public, after Diego made sure anything dangerous had been stored away safely and the entrance to the library (and its peephole) locked from the hacienda side during acceptable business hours._

 _Toronado was turned out to pasture as a stud horse, although Diego continued to ride him instead of Esparanza after the mare became Victoria's favourite horse instead._

 _The years turned to decades._

 _While Alejandro did not live to see California become a US State, Diego did._

 _Diego and Victoria's children grew up to give them grandchildren, and then one great grandchild before Diego finally passed away shortly after his eighty second birthday. Victoria, heartbroken, survived him by only a few short years._

 _She followed him, passing in her sleep, his mask from his time as Zorro in her hand._


End file.
